


it's the sun in your eyes

by doubtthestars



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, andre is the friend you hate to love and love to hate, its a good thing though, me trying to parse the feels, number 11 for marco still fucks me up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:24:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/pseuds/doubtthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment before the match against Australia, Marco and Mario talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's the sun in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acciothirteen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acciothirteen/gifts).



> this veered into not-your-prompt-territory. I'll do better next time, I promise.

“11 huh?” He skims the number on his chest just barely, as if he were afraid of getting burned. Marco nods. There is a knot of ‘what if’ and ‘I can’t’ stuck in his throat. Months have passed since the World Cup, since missing what would have been the greatest moments of his life, and now he carried the weight of a different greatness. Miro wasn’t with them anymore. Miro, who had been their mentor and friend and a living legend in the midst of getting called up. Miro, who believed in Mario enough to pass on that hope and see it come to fruition. 

“How do you feel?” _Like I’ve got to prove something. Like I have shoes to fill that won’t ever feel right._ He shrugs, looks down at the white kit, at his boots, at his best friend.

“Like a new person.” Mario chuckles, smiles as he always does. He knocks his shoulder with his, like the reverse of their signature celebration and for a moment everything seems normal like he hasn’t spent months in and out of physio and unable to share--Marco swallows and breathes in the hint of Mario lingering with the air.

“You’ll be fine. They love you out there.” Every ambient sound comes rushing back, reminding him they’re not alone, in a bubble where their teammates are politely giving them space, but never alone. 

He steps back, half-annoyed at his thoughts. 

“You wear eleven for Dortmund, they will be used to it on your back.” Mario’s lips do something funny when he says the club’s name, pressing down and in like holding back a tremor. A season was all they had together but it was still a healing wound, shiny with new skin. 

Marco doesn’t think about the summer. It’s a different ache. _They were supposed to make history together._ He bites at his lip. 

“It’s not about them.” He doesn’t snap, but it is a close thing. He will always be the boy that reacts with too much force before asking for what he wants. He doesn’t think he can in this moment. It is a silly request. They are fine, but always carefully tiptoeing over invisible cracks, so really, not so fine. 

He can’t miss him when he’s right in front of him. It’s absurd.

Mario sighs, aggravated by his passive-aggressive stance or face or whatever reason he’s picked this time. 

He closes the space between them, reaching with his arms. 

“Idiot,” is muffled and soft and Marco is content enough in the hold to let it pass. His arms lock around Mario. They stay perfectly still until a cough makes him open his eyes like an annoyed cat.

“What’s this? I’m joining in this lovefest. Are we congratulating Marco for making it this far?” Andre uses his octopus arms to cling onto both of them in a strong bear hug. He squeezes until Mario pokes an elbow out in protest.

“Schurrle, what the fuck.” There’s less bite in his words than Andre’s favorite hot sauce. 

“Aww, don’t be like that. You’re so cute when you’re mad.” He dodges the cheek pinch and absolutely doesn’t hide behind Mario, using him as a meat shield. 

Andre grins like a rabid animal. 

“Lighten up, we’re old now. The new kids might…” He mock whispers, “look up to us.” The goofy look of horror has Mario laughing again. Marco doesn’t feel any sort of envy(maybe just a little) because Mario is different and harder to understand now, less prone to gut-busting laughs and terrible ideas, but Andre always had a way.

He had grown older in Brazil, in the Maracana, in the moment Mario became someone who scored the winner of a world cup final, all while looking at the sky like it was going to rain. 

Marco wasn’t the only one with weight on his shoulders.

21 was ten more than 11, yet he felt less prepared for it. He would still give it his best and he knew Andre and Mario would be there right beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this](https://40.media.tumblr.com/0ee48a77281d6674e2ca80f46db0e86a/tumblr_njetbzxoP31rpoacgo1_540.jpg) and [this](http://68.media.tumblr.com/6554132bd398c3db048f70d1ae261776/tumblr_nls6502bWc1tuxf2go1_1280.jpg) and decided holy god I have feels.


End file.
